Hola! Thanks to everyone who's been keeping up with this story! I was just on vacation this week, and I've had a lot of car-ride time to write stories in my head, and I'm super excited to begin working on my new ideas, and making them come alive! As always, please like and comment. Feel free to give me any ideas for a new RQ4 fanfic! This will be my final regular chapter, followed by and Epilogue.

Enjoy! "I'm not leaving this place unless I leave behind his corpse—or mine."

Mare

As the final drops of the contents from the vial drip down my throat, power surges through me similar to that of a tsunami. Vigor and strength blossom from deep inside of me, coursing through my bones, to the nerves, and then all the way to the outer layers of my skin. Without a blink, lightning arrives from the blackened clouds. Though I can create my own electricity, I draw dynamism force from the palace, until I feel no more. The few lights that continue to illuminate the courtyard flicker before dying, enveloping us in near blackness. Fickle, but continuous bolts of multi-colored lightning continue to act as a source of light; the occasional fireball paired along with it, flying untamably across my line in vision.

A masked Sentinel, garbed in the hues of the Burning Crown lumbers towards me, a torch in hand. Swift, I quickly discover the skill he possesses. Before I can so much as bring my hand up, pain sparks in my abdomen, the torch now on the stone ground, quickly fizzling out. Instinctively, one hand flies to my stomach, the other sending out a sloppy bolt that smacks into the wrought-iron gate that leads to the palace. It didn't miss my target by inches. Feet. Sloppy, I mentally slap myself.

Pulling through the agony, my second-hand releases my grip, this time sending a shock accurately. The Sentinel flies backward a couple feet, yet manages to land kneeling. Like quicksilver, the man is up in mere seconds, preparing another rod of flames. Hurtling towards my heart like a freshly sharpened knife, at an astonishing rate, the torch nearly burns me once more. But at the very last second, I sidestep the projectile, gifting him my own dangers. The Sentinel lands on his back this time, the air running away from his lungs. He struggles to bounce back onto his feet, but to no avail.

"A torch, really?" I ask him, glancing around me to make certain no threats are present. "I've dealt with flames more times than I could count for you, and have been scorned even more." Physically and metaphorically. Maven's sickly warm touch, growing in heat, gracing down my collarbone until branded. His words often even more painful than his touch. You could've been my red queen, his words chastise me. And then there's the other prince; the flame. His oddly warm touch in the marketplace, eventually transforming into an inferno of passion. Then the heartbreak, which burned more than anything else ever could. For months, I held onto that strand of hope- as thin as a spider's silk- that Maven wasn't absolute pure evil, that I could still love him. Yet all that time, I never realized all the love I had ever needed was laying right next to me on that small cot at Notch. And then he left me.

A sudden urge to get to Maven sooner grasps at me, and I send a killing blow to my Sentinel.

*****
"Have you found him yet?" I bark my question at a group of warriors who had just cleared a large sector of the palace. Usually, I'd try to speak more politely, but today kindness wouldn't allow me Maven's head.

"No Barrow, we haven't. Next time remember your talking to individuals above you. Not your employees!" The newblooded man gives me a sour look before herding his team onward.

"Sorry," I mumble, before rushing down the hallway. Over fifteen minutes we've been searching, yet to no avail has there been sighting of the king. This time he wasn't so lucky to escape via the underground train; the Guard disabled it hours ago. Every known entrance to the outside world has been barricaded and guarded, leaving no chance for the king to escape. This time it won't be a lie. I'm not leaving this place unless I leave behind his corpse- or mine.

My boots leave haunting clicks against the cold stone, as my feet progress down the deep hallway. Tall and dark diamondglass windows contour the wall to my right, tapestries between each sheet of glass, forming an elegant pattern. The diamond glass is dull and nearly black, usually meant to hide the palace's inner-workings from outsiders. But perhaps today, the windows hold a new purpose; the glass is meant to obscure the horrors of the roaring battle- raging just outside these walls- from the innocent eye. My question is: Who could possibly remain innocent while dwelling inside such a mangled home?

Perhaps no one ever has. I certainly didn't.

The continuous sounds of my feet marching along resound in my eardrums as my eyes glance over every feasible hiding place, no matter how foolish. A pair of quivering black boots poking out from behind a velvet curtain? The shadow prince taking home in the shadows of the windows? Or perchance a crack in the floor, leading to an underground bunker. All the while, lightning pulses larger and larger in my angry hands.

"Mare!" Farley rushes around the corner, making me start.

"What? Did you find him?" A sudden thought emerges from the back of my mind I've been trying so terribly hard to compress. "Did he escape?"

Farley lets out a hybrid noise, a cross between a laugh and a groan. "Of course not. You know that's not feasible. It's quite impossible. But we discovered a note in his chambers, perched right atop the bathtub rim." Farley hands me a cream colored scrap of paper, rips at the corners. "I'm sorry, but I had to read it. Security purposes."

Her last words float into my ears and right back out the other side. The note was placed on the bathtub, in the same space Maven and I last spoke before my escape. The memory that pains me the most to remember.

"What are you waiting for? Read it!"

Shaking, bloodstained fingers from war unfold the thick parchment, as I clench my teeth together. The same handwriting I read from the piece of paper a murdered baby once held lines the pages, in a poem format.

Little Lighting Girl, come to the place where we ate our last meal, and where my last thread of love was shorn. Where we shared out final kiss, real or not. It is there you shall receive your final wish, to execute me, as you have wanted, for so very long.

"Do you know where that is?" Farley asks me as though she's asking a child, so often confused and scared. Sometimes that's all we truly are. Children, who need to be cared for and loved. And I suppose that's what I look like right about now, with my unfocused stare and frown plastered onto my mouth.

"Yes, Farley. I do believe I know exactly where he is." As I acknowledge his location, I feel the electricity grow stronger within me, thunder growling in the distance. "But don't follow me. Order your men away from the diamond-glass balcony, on the west side of the palace. Tell them to get as far away as they can. I can guarantee you that it will be a war storm."

Men and women charge down the corridors, opposite direction as me, back to the battlefield. Each step I take is one closer to the boyking's death. One stride closer to the closure I desire to have someday. The happiness I've longed for all my life.

On my left, I notice Ella with her bright blue hair bouncing upon her shoulders. Ella's gleeful expression melts into something much more violent when she notices me. She grabs me the collar, before telling me, "I hope it hurts him. An infinite number of times worst than he hurt me."

"Hell is too good for him. I promise it will." My words are made of venom, poisonous to the touch. A single sentence, summarizing the hatred I've held for that boy for far too long.

Ella lets go of me, before scurrying off with the rest of the crowd.

My heart beats to the rhythm of my sprint, ever growing, ready to explode. Though it's futile, I decide to focus on my feet, each one flying over the other, nearly fast enough to trip over.

Before I know it, daunting crystal doors tower before me, daring me to open them. One hand on the iron handle, I glance behind me. Two men stand at each access point; Farley refused to send everyone away, for my personal safety. I told her I could take care of myself, but she insisted. I find my hand tugging open the hefty door, but the weight doesn't matter, not with the power enhancer or the pure fury I'm running on. I slip through the small crack I've created for myself, and just half a second later, the space is closed once more.

"It's devastatingly poetic, really. We were the ones who created you. We taught you everything you needed to know to destroy us." Maven's back faces me as he looks down at the warzone below us.

"Speaking of poems, I had no idea you were a poet," I speak of his verse leading me to his location.

"I'm not," he whispers as if it were a secret. "I simply figured it would be better than a note. I've left you far too many notes."

"Why do this? You could've fled, like the coward you're supposed to be!" I blurt my words, finding it's too difficult to think about what I next say.

"I've taken so much from you. Your brother. Six months of existence. And enough trauma to last a lifetime. So I've decided to not be the coward. You may kill me, Mare Barrow, and I will not fight you. If you do not, I will be executed anyway; I'm sure my brother will make sure of it."

"If you're not a coward, face me. I wish for my eyes to be the final thing you see before death." The same eyes that he has ignited so much doubt, worry, and suffering in.

Hesitation drifts through the air like a bad odor, distasteful to anyone. But finally, "Very well," Maven utters, possible regret in his tone.

He slowly rises as a dead man should, most likely consumed with so many thoughts. Was it stupid of him to not flee, and instead face his worst enemy? Or perhaps he has come to terms with his decision and instead is imagining what he'll face after this life. I wonder that now.

Maven's blue eyes meet mine, so depressed. A breath of cold air escapes my mouth, leaving behind a cloud. He looks nothing like the boy who tortured me, and so much more like the boy I used to know. The boy I fell in love with. His eyes are gentle and kind. All of the medals he cheated to get no longer pinned to his suit. Instead, he dons a simple white shirt and black pants; something that a king would never wear. No tears adorn his face and no hint of ever weeping at all.

"Why haven't you cried? Aren't you scared?"

Maven chuckles before tucking his hands into pants pockets. "I've never feared death. And I've never feared your lightning; I've known for quite a while it would be your hands that I die at. I think you're the one who fearful of what's to come."

"What do you mean? Did Jon tell you before he left?" I ask, thirsty for answers.

"No. I just figured you would never allow anyone else to be the cause of my death."

"Of course I wouldn't," I voice my final words to him, as I draw power from the sky, myself, and the depths of my soul. Too much power won't be enough. My bolt must be strong enough to inflict enough pain to balance the amount he's caused me; I worry this task is impossible.

Thunder rolls in the distance, louder than I've ever heard. Violet lightning continues to pour down from the massive grey clouds I've created. My right-hand raises above my head, preparing to send the killing blow. The strike that I once believed I could never make because of an invisible thread of love. That thread has long since snapped.

One thick beam of light shoots out from my hand, across the way, until crashing into Maven's chest. My scream pierces through all other sounds, until it is the only thing I hear. His old words echo through my head. I'll make the others scream for you, Mare, every last one. He never won, it was only ever I, who screamed.

Maven's mouth forms an O shape, and his eyes are wide; though it's not Maven anymore, only his corpse. Yet I continue to fire, like an automatic gun that cannot stop- until it runs out of bullets.

Silence encompasses me as my screams die in my throat. Warm arms wrap around me, lifting me up, as my own legs can no longer support themselves.

"He's gone, Mare. Forever."